Pterippus
by Victoriane
Summary: Prince Imrahil calls his daughter Lothíriel to Minas Tirith with the hopes of making her the next Queen of Gondor. Perhaps he'll settle for Queen of Rohan?
1. Trade Your Cage

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Pterippus

_Horse on high, noble, snow-white  
__Swan below, wheeling, sun-bright  
__The storm is passed, battle won  
__The evil stemmed, death undone  
__And echoes now in glen, wood and dell  
__The horse, Éomer,  
__And lover-swan, Lothíriel._

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She knew the city. Too many days spent wandering the stone streets, a guard or brother in tow, taught her the ways of Minas Tirith. It was familiar to her, though in days of late the memories had grown less sharp and more vague. War - and madness - did that. Indeed, Denethor would never harm his niece, the child of his beloved wife's brother, but the Steward had grown melancholic and confused in the shadow of his lady's passing. And Imrahil kept his daughter at home, far from the Morgul Road and a bleak uncle. It was not until after Pelennor had been assailed by many thousands of Orcs, the Rohirrim and then the returned king's triumphant march to Mordor was she called for.

The letter arrived to find her dry-eyed and frantic, almost ripping at the wax seal. A thousand scenarios, each more horrifying than the next, danced across her mind. But this was no death notice and she sank back into a chair, overcome with relief. It was over. The War, the danger to her family. Gone. Her brothers' wives wept for joy and she felt as if a great, pressing weight had been removed from her shoulders. The sun had broken through the clouds. The storm had passed.

Within the parchment was not only news of the battle, the new king and the destroyed evil, but a summons to Minas Tirith. A new monarch meant a coronation and of course, the princess and her so-called sisters would attend.

They sailed up the Great River and she waited at the prow, black hair caught in the wind like a dark standard. With the sun on her face, she could not help but smile, feeling as if she could fly. With quite a bit of reluctance and willpower, she refused the urge to stretch out her arms and lean forward into the light wind. Was this what all had felt the moment the gates crashed, when the towers crumbled? Was this peace? Laughable as it may be, the princess hardly knew the meaning of the word. It would be difficult to adapt to life without war, without watching the horizon in fear.All her life had been spent in the shadow of collecting doom and now - nothing. Not emptiness, but absence. That weight had been pulled away, leaving her without purpose or thought. There was nothing waiting for her, at least, nothing that amounted to little more than needlework.

Her smiled faded. Was this the life peace brought? One of leisure and lethargy? What had she to anticipate now, with her father and brothers returning to patrol her gilded cage? In her heart, she shuddered. Marriage, most likely. There was time for courtship now, with the men returned, and surely her father had an idea or two already. Had that been his motive in calling her to Minas Tirith?

She shook her head. No. She thought too little of Imrahil. He was a good father, doting and true, albeit a nuisance to her freedom. With any luck, marriage was the farthest idea in his head.

Beneath the folds of her dress, Lothíriel crossed her fingers.

"With luck," she whispered.

She was not ready to trade her cage for a bride's leash.

* * *

This was not Minas Tirith. It was too bright, too merry, too overcome with joy and song. The city she remembered was somber, dark in the shadow of Morgul and heavy with doubt and woe. Now, brightly color banners and flags waved down at the streets, flapping the persisting wind. The gate square seemed to crawl with people, laughing, singing, celebrating the recent victory. The White Tree stared down from every flag and banner, a constant reminder of the king's return and the city's rebirth.

She could not help but laugh when she met her brothers at the dock. They were preoccupied then, busy greeting their wives and children. Amrothos was the first to embrace her and then Elphir and Erchirion. Their wives, Lithiane and Cianduilas, respectively looked on brightly. Not even the loss of their husbands' attentions could damper their moods.

"Come, Sister," Amrothos said, "Father is waiting in the gate square. He apologizes that he could not meet you with us, but had business to discuss with King Elessar and our cousin, Faramir."

Lothíriel nodded. "Hopefully nothing too serious. You know how he frets over such things."

Scooping his son, Elithir, into his arms, Elphir laughed. "Of course not. Who could be bothered with such now? It is too early to return to the trials of the everyday!"

Erchirion, the most serious of the brothers, turned away from his wife. "Trials, indeed. Father should be more worried about the villages destroyed by the Corsairs on their voyage to Pelennor, rather than whatever tosh he may be bothering the king with." Cianduilas placed a hand on his arm, her smile softened. Of all the wives, her head was the most level and was the slowest to anger. For a moment, Lothíriel bowed her head. She remembered the smoking wrecks the river villages had become.

"You know Father - and Elessar - are both doing all he can in aid," Amrothos countered, "Afterall, there are so many who need help, not only in our province, but across the country. Our allies in Rohan will face a hard winter, if I heard correctly. Many of their fields and farms were destroyed by Isengard - don't they deserve our aid as well?"

Elphir smirked. "You've taken quite a liking to our northern friends, haven't you?" he chuckled. "Say not, Brother, that their golden hair has bewitched you? Or have you forgotten their near-barbarism?"

"I would hardly call our saviors barbarians," Elchirion scoffed. "Had Rohan not come-," he trailed away, eyeing his wife steadily. "More blood would have stained the fields of Pelennor."

Lothíriel watched her brothers' exchange in earnest, as a spectator would a tennis match. She was eager for news of the country and the war, so she fell silent, if only for the sake of news. Amrothos continued on his debate, fending off Elphir's playful jabs and Erchirion careful retorts. In the end, Amrothos felt that the loyalty of Gondor, and Dol Amroth, lay to Rohan to repay their debt, while Elphir had sided with the suffering of their own province. Erchirion took neither side, settling instead to inject the conversation with intelligence whenever the topic became sour or far-fetched.

The princess exchanged a mirthful glance with Cianduilas, who merely rolled her eyes at the brothers' behavior. And so it was business as usual between the children of Dol Amroth, as now they sat horseback in the gate square.

She watched the crowd for her father, but spotted the standard first. The Ship and the Silver Swan, cutting through the bustling square like their famed ships through still water. And then the crowds parted to reveal a smiling Imrahil, sitting astride an inky charger. Strange, she thought. He looked older, more care-worn. There was a dullness in his eyes. But there was no time for observation.

Against all her etiquette training, Lothíriel vaulted from horseback to the stone street. Imrahil met her with a deep, tightening embrace. She pulled back, exhausted from smiling and saw new gray in her father's beard. He kissed her brow with a sigh and clasped her hand.

"Welcome, Daughter. I have missed you," he murmured, his low voice a rumble that shook her very heart. He studied her smiling features before nodding to his sons over her shoulder. "Come. If we hurry, you'll have ample time to prepare for the coronation later this afternoon. And perhaps, a meeting with the King?"

"The King?" she exclaimed, surprised. Behind her, Erchirion's smile turned grim. "Father, I am no one of importance, surely such a man has no time for the likes of me."

Imrahil laughed and patted her cheek. "Darling, you are too modest. Look how you've grown in my absence," he gestured towards her. It took a moment, but she understood her father meant her sudden growth spurt and a blush rose to her cheeks.

She was no Elf, neither in stature nor grace, and no songs would be sung of her enchanting beauty, but the few glances she stole in a mirror now and then said she had become fairer than she ever dreamed. Yet still, her hair was the common black of Gondor and nothing could be said for her tanned skin, an almost unsightly feature in every court. And her eyes, so gray and stony, so unremarkable, remained.

"Father, I'm positive the King would care not for my looks," she said slowly, her suspicions rising. "Why would he?"

He only laughed again and took his horse by the bridal, avoiding her eyes. "No reason, Daughter. None at all."

"Amrothos said you met with him," she continued, pressing the matter. "Why?"

Imrahil glanced around at the gate square. "Lothíriel this is not the place."

Again. "Why?"

Behind her, Erchirion whispered something to Elphir. Even the playful Amrothos turned stony, glaring at his father.

Their father cracked slightly under the pressure of his daughter's dark gaze. "We merely discussed his situation, as it were."

She blinked, confused and unsatisfied. "Situtation?"

Again, Imrahil laughed but this time the sound was hollow. "Nothing of importance, really, just his status as king demands an heir, as soon as possible, and-."

She finished for him, her tone flat. "The king is unmarried."

He nodded. He would not tell her Elessar seemed reluctant to discuss the matter, that he had dodged nearly every attempt to bring up the already tender question of marriage. He would not mention how the king had nearly stormed away when Imrahil suggested Lothíriel, some sixty years the king's junior.

For a moment, for her, all seemed to go silent in the square of Minas Tirith. Her last reply was stony, meant to sting.

"I am no queen."

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	2. Deliberate Burn

**A/N - Wow, what a great turn-out from my readers! Really, this was just for my own piece of mind so thanks for all your support. I try to put a unique spin on an old formula and I'm glad you all like! Keep reading and reviewing!! And don't worry, ****Éomer ****shall be making his appearance um...NOW.**

**Pterippus**

**II**

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She was not an early riser but long, quiet months at Dol Amroth made the princess unaccustomed to a rising Minas Tirith. A tolling bell, clear and resonant, woke her from what had been shallow and uneasy sleep. Her night had been marked by visions, neither dream nor nightmare, that she could not recall. A single image remained: a white swan - or was it a horse? She couldn't remember and didn't care to try.

But now she had awoken, there was very little she could do in her quarters without letting her nerves get the better of her. The coronation was to be that afternoon and her gown, draped over a large cedar chest, was a constant reminder. Soon, this Aragorn, or Elessar as he was to be royally styled, would be King of Gondor, the first in many, many years. He would stand before the White Tree, a crown on his brow, and her father would look on, smiling. She knew his plan. He would make her a queen. Her stomach squirmed and she stood, a hasty air to her ways.

Lothíriel needed to get out.

And yet, she was not entirely disobedient. While she set her braided hair back in a simple, unassuming bun, she sent her maid to fetch a guard to escort her to the market. Too nervous to eat, she set off without delay. Should anyone ask, she had set off to replace some ribbons she had lost on the journey north. But no one would ask. She would return before the customary late breakfast, and even then she hardly expected to see her father. Surely he was blathering at the future king's elbow, singing his daughter's praises and virtues, no doubt. The thought was enough to bring bile to her mouth. Wincing, she pushed away the thought and concentrated on weaving her way through the morning traffic to the markets on the lower levels.

The general tide of people seemed to have the same agenda and carried her forwards as a current does a wave. Her mind was mercilessly blank as she walked onward, eyes darting between the cobbled street and the brightening sky. Somewhere another bell tolled, drawing her attention. And then she hit a wall.

A wall of taut muscle, wrapped in green linens and boiled leather. She stumbled, arms flailing, but caught herself before the guard - or the wall - could intervene.

"Your pardon, miss," the wall said, a humor to its voice. But walls did not speak.

She was quick to reply but still distracted, focused more on straightening her dark skirts than the human obstacle. "Granted." Her tone was clipped, reserved, polished. A trait well practiced in her house.

He smiled, "Indeed," he mused, giving her the penultimate once-over. Dark hair, pulled back so severely he winced. These Gondorian ladies, so attached to structure and etiquette, that even a smile seemed out of place. Her dress was fine but plain, the same dark blue most Gondorians seemed to be fond of. She was well off, perhaps the daughter of a successful merchant or some second son of a lesser lord.

"Although it is I who should be apologizing," she added, catching him off guard. Her gaze was just as scrutinizing and fell upon the brooch clasping his fine cloak. A running horse hewn of gold. And then behind him, several dressed in the same colors, all with red or blonde hair. Guards. The wall was obviously Rohirrim and royalty at that, "for it is I who walked into you, My Lord King." With that, she bowed her head, but her body remained unmoving. She was not used to bowing, at least, not to strangers.

He seemed taken aback, "Yes, well, I'm sure you had good reason." He winced at his own idiocy. Good reason to collide with another person? But he recovered as easily as she had, lapsing back to his wayward smile. "And I do believe that to be the most pitiful bow I've yet to witness," he added, making sure to chuckly loudly. He could not have his playful chiding taken too seriously. A king, yes, but a young king, far from his realm.

For a brief moment, she smiled, showing even teeth, before lowering her eyes. "A princess is not born to bow," she said. _Only to kneel._

Ah. So she was more, much more, than a merchant child. Or were princesses common in Gondor? He wasn't sure. His younger days had not been spent at study.

"Then what is she born to do?" It was early, he had no other business. He was goading her. One of his guards coughed, but he ignored the gentle prodding.

Her answer was quick, simple, and true. "Marry." She forced a smile, hoping to convince him that she was merely jesting as well. He took the bait and laughed.

"Yes, yes," he ribbed, tracing his beard and moustache with rough fingers, "the sport of ladies, the woman's hunt."

Each word was like a shard of glass through her heart. Her eyes turned dark, but her smile remained, pasted on her features. He was no fool and frowned, sensing her discomfort. Éowyn always said he was rather callous.

"Indeed," was all she could manage. Behind, her own guard sneezed forcibly. She understood and nodded over her shoulder, for once thankful for an escort. "It seems I'm rather late - I must begin preparing for the coronation."

And suddenly his smile returned. This puzzling creature would cross his path again. "So you'll be there, for Aragorn's crowning?"

"I believe he's the one being _coronated_." She smirked, injecting the tiniest bit of sarcasm to her voice. He nodded and lowered his gaze, almost hiding behind a curtain of blonde hair. Was he blushing? Of course not. No warrior-king blushed. They didn't have the ability. There were simply born without blood in their faces and so were spared the embarassment of blushing. These thoughts, of course, only made her blush in response. He was a _king_. Not some guard, or cousin, or brother. She did not know him - this was not _proper_.

He laughed, if only to provide some relief to the sudden tension.

"Good day, My Lord King," she murmured, falling back into the most exaggerated curtsy she could muster, her nose almost scraping her knee . Even his guards laughed. And then there was warmth beneath her chin - fingers. She could hear the clink of her guard's armor as he stirred.

He pulled her face skyward, so that she met his eyes. "And may I ask your name before you so rudely depart?"

Outwardly, she appeared to smile, looking for all the world like any normal lady would. But her heart had retreated into a fortress of ice, not to be melted by the fires of Rohan. She should not let her hopes get so high. "I am Princess of Dol Amroth," she sighed, "and you are King of Rohan. I believe our titles should be sufficient. Again, good day, My Lord King." And with that, she stole away, slow as any woman but with what little grace and dignity she had retained.

"Mind your feet!" He called after her, before setting off on his way in the opposite direction. The touch of a woman was not unfamiliar, but still the hand of Éomer King burned with an unnamed inner flame, as if her skin had burned him in the greatest possible way.

And so the Swan came to know the Horse.


	3. Brotherly Insight

**DISCLAIMER (because I always forget) - I don't own anything. I'm not making any money. Peace.**

**Pterippus**

**III**

And so it had come to this, a day so bright as to be blinding. The sun was high, the sky cloudless, with no threat of rain or darkness. No, those days had passed, the spring had come. A new age was dawning on Middle-Earth. Out with the old, as the saying goes.

She could only stare, her gaze fixed on the thick windows. Had she been at home, they would be thrown open so to catch the ocean breeze and the gull song rising with the tide, but Minas Tirith was _not_ home. Though her room looked out on a private courtyard of white stone and ivy, the din of the city heavy with celebration. The king was to be coronated within the next hour and there was nothing and no one who could stem the excitement.

The dress was beautiful in the way a crown is beautiful. That is, cold, stiff and overwrought. It was finely made, woven of expensive silks more like silver than cloth. The tiniest sapphires and pearls adorned the long, brocaded sleeves. Her neck was bare, leaving her collarbone exposed, while the breast of the dress was set with snow-white swan feathers, taken from the bird of the House of Imrahil. Princess though she was, she wore no crown and instead her hair was pinned back and braided with gossamer threads of silver, diamond and pearl. To her dismay, her maid had powdered her skin, hoping to hide its unsightly tanned color. She thought herself pretty, yes, but overdone, like a party cake. Too many frills and decorations to count. She wondered at the aches she would have the next morning from her sculptured little get-up.

It was getting to be noon and she could hear the rising clamor in the parlor - her brothers had assembled, their wives in tow. Lithiane and Cianduilas could have passed for sisters with their dark hair, pale skin and velvety blue gowns. Amorothos, Elphir and Erchirion were presentable in blue and silver robes, due in very large part to a great deal of fussing from Lithiane. They looked groomed within an inch of their lives and Lothíriel had to cough to disguise her laughter; Lithiane could be silly sometimes, particularly when it came to clothes.

Indeed, Lithiane did fuss a great deal more when her sister-in-law emerged from her quarters, finally ready for the coronation. She preened over the poor girl, smoothing her sleeves and adjusting her hair just so, all while chattering about Lady What's-It of No-Matter that she entertained the evening before. Cianduilas was more reserved, inclined only to pat her young sister's cheek with a smile.

"You are quite lovely today," she murmured, her eyes not so grave as usual.

Lothíriel nodded her thanks and smiled, grateful for Cianduilas' quiet temperment.

"Indeed," Elphir agreed with a grin, "At last our sister is befitting of her title."

She blushed but replied, eager to retort. "You forget, that silk," she fingered the shoulder of his fine tunic, "does not a prince or princess make. It is, instead, the heart and mind."

Amrothos laughed, leaping at the chance to tease his older brother. A favorite pastime to be sure. "And we know you received the lion's share of both, Lothí."

Erchirion cut in swiftly before either Elphir or Lithiane had the chance. "Enough," he said with the shadow of a smile, "There will be a time and place for your sport, but now it past noon and _we_ are almost late."

"Well then," his sister said, "I never expected it to be Father making us late." Her gaze lingered on Lithiane who, thankfully, didn't catch the playful jest.

"No, no, we were waiting on you, Lothí," Amrothos explained.

She frowned, puzzled. "And Father is-? Has he gone to the Citadel?"

Erchirion cleared his throat loudly and turned to his wife, who quickly struck up one of their low and dull conversations. Lothíriel eyed him, wary of his peculiar behavior. She was not unintelligent and knew her brothers to be of the cheerful sort, reluctant to parlay unfortunate news.

"Oh. Oh I see," she muttered. Her strong gaze faltered and fell to her hands. "He is with the king again, no doubt. And I can easily guess as to their conversation." Indeed, her father was a man of resolution; once he fell onto a path, he followed it, through hell and high water. "Far be it from me to deter him." Her voice had turned bitter. "It is only my own future he speaks of."

"Dearheart, it is not so bad as you think," Amrothos said, hoping to soothe her. "King Elessar is of the highest caliber, the strongest and wisest of men. Truthfully, and in this I do not joke, he is the greatest man I may ever boast to know."

Lothíriel didn't know what came over her, but suddenly her mouth was open and flapping, spouting words she had no control over. "And what of your Rohirrim? You spoke so highly of them and their quality. From what I understood, you thought them to be a wonder as well."

Amrothos found himself caught off guard and almost stumbled in his speech. "Well, yes, they are a fiercesome force to behold, brave to fault with the spears to match, but of what matter are they to you?" She raised an eyebrow, questioning his tone. "Don't misunderstand me, they are of great matter to Gondor but I hardly see what you are aiming at."

He had inadvertantly called her bluff and she scrambled for a fitting answer. "I only meant that your- high regard, yes, your favor seems to be easily given, bestowed upon both King Elessar and King Éomer- I mean, the Rohirrim." She swallowed, feeling her heart suddenly race. Why had she said that? She was a fool, now more than ever, and none of her brothers would let her forget it. Hardly attentive to his own conversation, Erchirion watched his sister carefully, observing her sudden flush.

And then she was saved, for the moment at least, by the silver trilling of horns from higher up. The conversation was forgotten and they left the house. Their train of mounts and guards wound upwards with a thickening crowd. The city seemed on the edge of exploding in excitement but Lothíriel heard naught her brothers' laughter or the city's celebration. Instead, her mind filled with quiet buzzing, distracted by the sudden swirl of nerves in her stomach, but from the prospect of Elessar or Éomer, she did not know.

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Of the House of Dol Amroth, only Imrahil wore a crown.

They stood along the avenue of the Citadel that ran from the White Tree to the steps and door of the King's House. As royalty, they were afforded a place quite close to the king who, as of yet, had not appeared. Imrahil assured his children, impatient Amrothos especially, that the king would be along any moment now and that he had just left Elessar. There was a twinkle in his eye Lothíriel did not like.

She spotted Elves here and there, beautiful and ethereal in their still quiet. Her cousin, Faramir, stood across the way. He caught her eye and winked, forcing her to smile against her better judgement and all bonds of etiquette. The woman next to him was unfamiliar. She was fair, too fair for Gondor, and pale. Her eyes were kind, but hard and she offered the smallest of smiles when she noticed Lothíriel's gaze.

"That is Éowyn of Rohan," Amrothos whispered, "the rumored betrothed of our cousin and sister to your Éomer."

She bristled, "He's not _my_ Éomer," she hissed, glaring at her brother.

He only laughed and nodded across the avenue. She followed his gesture, past Faramir and Éowyn, the spot parallel to her own. There stood Éomer, looking for all the world like the warrior-king he truly was. She thanked her stars he did not catch her gaze and turned away, lest he might feel her eyes and turn.

"Really, Amrothos, I've only met him once," she continued in a low voice, eager to stamp out whatever conclusions her brother had already drawn.

"And yet you're blushing."

"I don't need this right now, I really don't."

"Oh yes, I've forgotten, the future queen of Gondor is rather fussy when she wakes too early."

"Don't call me that-!" She nearly lost her composure and stopped to check herself. "And I slept very well, thank you."

"Oh yes, quite well. So well you snuck out not long after dawn. Pray tell, dear sister, where were you going?"

She felt her breath catch and looked to her brother, her eyes pleading quietly. He stared back at her, jaw set but his eyes dancing. This was not the place for such things. And suddenly his eyes were past her, staring across the avenue.

"He's watching you."

She turned slowly, hoping to appear the casual observer of the Citadel. She meant to merely glance his way, one single look. Instead, she froze when she met his level and steady gaze. Behind her, Amrothos smiled.

If possible, he appeared more handsome than that morning. He had attempted to tame his hair somewhat, but failed, to her great enjoyment. Though his eyes were dark, there was a fiery warmth there as he bowed his head in greeting. She did the same, offering up a small, toothy smile that he returned with a bright grin. Her heartbeat quickened and she lowered her gaze, hoping to hide the blush she felt.

For a moment, the sudden applause fell on deaf ears. Only when Amrothos nudged her arm did she notice the swelling excitement as the White Wizard ascended the stairs, bearing a winged crown.

And then there was the king. He was tall, majestic and grave, regal to the bone. He was not gray or wrinkled, but there was something ancient in his ways. Something forlorn in the king's steady stare. She found she could not look on him for long, but she would not let her gaze stray, not even to him.

Imrahil followed his daughter's eyes and bowed his head. It was a fine match, but he was not proud.

**Pterippus is the technical term for a winged horse, like Pegasus. **


	4. Some Things Are Certain

**Another break, another chapter. I watched all the LotR's on BluRay today. Teared up during all of Fellowship. Highly recommend, completely incredible.**

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**Pterripus**

**IV**

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Even Éomer's presence could not distract her from the ceremony upon the steps of the King's House. Grave but with the slightest smile, Gandalf the White held the winged crown aloft as the king knelt before him.

"Now come the days of the king!" he cried, his words echoing out over the Citadel. The crowd watched in utter silence as the wizard lowered the crown onto Elessar's brow. Quieter but triumphant, Gandalf murmured his last words. "May they be blessed."

Cheers of joy went up and a great many clapped and stamped their feet. Her brothers were no exception, each one making more noise than the next. Lothíriel joined in as best she could, clapping as loudly as etiquette would allow. But manners were the farthest thing from her mind.

The King of Gondor had returned. The Enemy had gone.

Some whistled aloud and many heads turned. High, keen and clear, the noise carried over all, emanating from the many Rohirrim standing behind their own king. Éomer whistled as well, clapping all the while. A few Gondorians looked confused, offended even, by what they considered to be a barbaric display. But like the new king of Gondor, Lothíriel only smiled.

With such joy, they could have kept clapping and cheering and whistling well into the afternoon but Elessar raised a hand. The crowd fell quiet almost at once, waiting in rapt attention for his first words as king.

"This day does not belong to one man but to all." He spoke with a deepness of a man beyond his years. All could see the memory of war and the promise of peace in his shining eyes. "Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace."

Another great cheer and again he asked for silence. This time he sang out in Elvish, a language that few knew but many appreciated for its beauty. All were quiet as he sang, descending the steps to the walk before him. The king fell into a slow pace, bowing and nodding to either side. As he drew close, Lothíriel noticed his hands, still torn from battle. One rested on the hilt of his legendary sword; it seemed war was not yet so distant for him.

The House of Dol Amroth bowed as one when Elessar stopped before them, bowing himself to a lineage almost as old as his own. Prince Imrahil beamed broadly.

"Hail, Elessar King!" he shouted, and his family, along with much of the crowd, followed suit.

The king smiled and nodded. Truth be told, Lothíriel thought he looked more embarrassed than anything by the display, though he tried to hide it. She thought it strange for a man of such greatness to act so, but then she did not know him. It was not her place to guess his heart. Not yet, if her father would have his way.

And the thought of marriage wormed its way back into her mind. She sighed aloud, a small noise, but enough to draw the king's eye. He noticed her, done up in white feathers and fine silks, and knew her immediately as the young princess Imrahil had offered up. Their eyes met and she quickly lowered her gaze, disliking his attention. A perceptive man, Elessar sensed her discomfort and hastened on, bowing to Éomer, Faramir and great many others down the avenue.

"Hmm," Amrothos murmured once the king had passed. His eyes twinkled with the usual mischief.

Lothíriel narrowed her eyes. "I'd thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Brother," she hissed, keeping her gaze on the king's procession. The dwarf was quite interesting.

"Opinions?" he mocked. "Me? Never!"

Smirking, she elbowed him lightly. Amrothos grinned in return and plucked a wayward white feather from her dark hair.

"Quite a silly getup, you know," he added, smiling all the while. "If it wasn't for your complexion, you might be able to pass for one of those elves." He gestured towards the king, who was now receiving Elven royalty a few yards away.

She laughed louder, drawing Éomer's eye from across the avenue. "It would take all of the White Wizard's magic to make me an Elf. And a boatload of powder on top of that."

But Amrothos wasn't listening, his gaze on the Elves. "They're fascinating, you know. Deadly too. I saw that Legolas fellow take down an entire mûmak! He's just there you know," he gestured, careful not to rudely point, "next to that dark-haired one, Elrond. From Rivendell, by the looks of him and the girl."

Lothíriel agreed, noting their dark hair and pale complexions. The girl was actually a woman, fiercely beautiful, dressed in the soft greens of spring. The king halted before her and she bowed, eyes shining.

"Did you know Elessar was raised by Elves in Rivendell?" Amrothos was still going on. "They're probably his foster parents- oh!"

"I don't think so," she giggled, watching the king and the Elf woman passionately embrace. He spun her around, eyes closed, for a moment forgetting the hundreds of eyes upon him.

Inside, Lothíriel felt another great weight lifting. The king already had a queen in mind; there would be no stiff courtship, no royal leash for Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.

"Well," her father said, his voice rather strangled. Red spotted his cheeks as he watched the king take the Elf's hand and pull her with him down the avenue. "Nothing's certain," he added, looking rather miffed.

Eyes trailing from Elessar to Éomer, Lothíriel heard herself speak out.

"Some things are certain."

* * *

Inside ten minutes, Imrahil had learned all he could about the new development and shared it with his brood in hopes of salvaging his daughter's betrothal.

"Her name's Arwen, she's an Elf of course, daughter of that Elrond, ruler or lord or something of Rivendell." He spoke very quickly, obviously flustered. "I suppose they were, I don't know, _involved_ before all this Ring business."

Elphir chuckled. "I'd certainly say so."

"Father, I don't see anyway around this," Erchirion said, his voice grave but eyes bright. He winked at Lothíriel. "The king is spoken for."

Imrahil frowned but nodded all the same, hastening off to find a drink and distracting conversation. Dignitaries, nobility and royalty now roamed freely about the Citadel, anticipating the banquet later in the day.

"Shame really," Lothíriel sighed, smiling at her brothers. "I was so getting used to the title."

"Princess, was it?" a coarse but pleasant voice broke in. Éomer halted next to Amrothos and Elphir, though his eyes were on their sister.

The King of Rohan crossed his arms, the shadow of a smile on his features. His cloak, a deep emerald, fluttered in the high wind and there was gold clasped at his neck. For all his fine livery, he still looked the part of a warrior king, more accustomed to swords and iron than crowns and gold. The velvety doublet did little to hide his broad shoulders and strong arms and, while his hair had been tamed somewhat, it still tossed with the wind, reflecting the returned sun. There was no doubting what Amrothos had said; he truly was the Lion of Rohan.

She bowed stiffly and smiled, ignoring the shivers running down her spine like an icy finger. "Lord King."

"My lady, I'm afraid titles will no longer suffice," he continued, eyes dancing as he repeated her words from that morning. "Amrothos, my friend, would you care to introduce us properly?"

Amrothos smirked at his sister, who tried not to blush. "Of course, Lord Éomer, so long as you promise to regale us with the tale of how you met my dear sister."

This time, Lothíriel really did blush. "Oh, it's not that interesting," she said, words quick and forced. "Very, very ordinary, just something in passing-."

"Early this morning," Éomer cut her off, his grin wide as Amrothos continued to smirk. "Very early, mind you, much earlier than I would expect a lady to be out-."

"My Lord King," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"-I was out walking with my guard, exploring the city, you know," he continued, amused by her sputtering. "When this little thing walked right into me. At first, I thought she might've been blind, you see, since it was broad daylight in the middle of the street-."

"I was taking in the scenery!" she grumbled, crossing her arms. Amrothos and Elphir couldn't help their laughter. Even Erchirion smirked in his own reserved way. "It's not my fault His Lordship couldn't make way for a lady."

"My darling sister," Elphir managed around chuckles, "If you're going to bounce around the streets of Minas Tirith with your eyes closed, you might think of taking an extra guard or two. Perhaps a walking stick even?"

At this Amrothos doubled over and even Lothíriel cracked a smile, warming up. She did not like being teased but now, in light of the king's romantic situation, it was hard not to be happy.

Éomer laughed himself, pleased by her pleasant smile. "Oh yes, a walking stick would compliment that dress quite nicely, Princess. Put some chicken feathers on it, that should do."

"Chicken feathers!" Lothíriel giggled, looking down at herself. Yes, her beautiful gown was little more than a costume. And the King of Rohan had seen right through it. "My Lord King, my brothers have painted you falsely. I see you're a man of fashion."

"Of course," he deadpanned, "I'm much more at home with embroidery than swords. I do stitch a good shirt."

The image of the burly Éomer hunched over needlework was too much for her and she laughed, loud and clear. Not at all ladylike, but the men didn't seem to mind.

Lithiane, on the other hand, snapped to the sound in an instant, fixing her keen eyes on her sister-in-law. She set across the walkway, heading for her.

"Oh thank heavens, I'm not wearing a corset or I'd meet an unfortunate end," Lothíriel gasped, fighting rolling peals of laughter.

Éomer's eyes twinkled as he chuckled himself. "I'm offended, Princess. My knitting is no laughing matter."

"Oh dear, Lothí, I think a bit of your hair's come undone." Lithiane broke in, taking her sister-in-law's hand. "Come, let me fix it."

Éomer pulled back, his battlehewn sterness setting in again. He did not like this woman at once. Her smile was as tight as her elaborate hair and he had no doubt her heart was as cold as her jewels.

Amrothos waved a hand dismissively, "Oh leave it, Lithiane, you're always fussing over the poor girl."

"I fuss because I _care_," Lithiane clipped, her grip on Lothíriel tightening. And she didn't like it one bit, worming out of her grasp.

"Lithiane, please, if you put one more pin in my head I fear I may go mad," Lothíriel said, keeping her smile pasted on. The King of Rohan did not need to see her petty family conflicts. "Then again, if one of the more crazed courtiers decides to attack, I have a whole host of weapons to choose from." She pulled a sharp, tiny pin from her hair to illustrate the point.

The men scrutinized the pin with smirks and laughter, while Lithiane blanched. "Honestly, it's like you don't _want_ to find a husband," she scolded, snatching the pin away from Lothíriel, who immediately blushed. Éomer didn't miss it and he lowered his eyes. The sport of ladies indeed.

"How on earth do you expect to be a queen if you're practically undressing in the middle of the Citadel?" Lithiane continued, her voice low and harsh.

Éomer's ears pricked up at that and he felt his blood chill. Was this her game then? Playing up to him in hopes of earning a crown? He didn't want to think so, but then his sister had warned him of this. Gondorian women were dazzled by titles, though he didn't think Lothíriel would be one of them. Lithiane, on the other hand, obviously was.

"Undressing, don't be foolish Lithiane," Erchirion chided, voice low.

Lothíriel's blush deepened, evident even through her make-up. "It's like I was the only one watching, King Elessar has already _chosen_-."

_Elessar_. Éomer looked at Lothíriel a little more closely. So she was one of the many girls Aragorn had mentioned after a weary day with his council. One of dozens offered up like gold and silver, allegiances to the new king.

But Lithiane pressed on, incensed. "He's chosen nothing! If anything, now you know the competition-."

"There's _no _competition," Lothíriel growled, squaring her shoulders.

"You are so silly sometimes, dear," Lithiane clucked, shaking her head. But everyone knew who indeed was the silly one and it was not Lothíriel.

"That's enough, my wife," Elphir murmured, gently pulling his wife away from his sister. "Why don't you go have a nice talk with, er, Faramir? I've heard he's getting married."

Lithiane didn't get the hint, but certainly took the bait. "Married? Really? And so soon? Well I should like to meet his bride at once, I'm sure she's more levelheaded than this one," she prattled, gesturing to Lothíriel. "Come Elphir." And then she was off, dragging Elphir, searching the crowd for an unlucky Faramir.

When she was gone, everyone let out a sigh of quiet relief.

"Well, I pity your sister," Lothíriel finally managed, looking up at Éomer. "Lithiane will have hunted her down in moments."

Éomer only chuckled, watching Lothíriel. "No, I pity Lithiane. My sister will tear her to ribbons if she's half the nuisance I just saw."

"Oh, well." Lothíriel dropped her eyes, allowing another smile. "In that case I hope she's her usual brand of awful."

They both smirked at that, eyes twinkling in a most similar way. She kept his gaze and he kept hers for a brief, quiet moment. Erchirion saw, but said nothing, while Amrothos did not see, but said quite a bit.

"Now that the greatest danger we might ever face as passed," he chuckled, gesturing to Lithiane now attempting to find Faramir in the crowd, "I think you asked for an introduction, My Lord. This is Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth and Queen of Cheek and Impertinence."

* * *

**So, so sorry for the long wait. I can't in good conscious say the chapters are going to flow out now, since classes start again on Monday and I have another feature script to write. Not to mention a drama spec from current television. Any suggestions? I'm thinking Sons of Anarchy, True Blood, The Walking Dead...thoughts?**

**Reviews are welcome too!**


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